


What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve

by smithpepper



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Fluff, Holiday Party Hijinks, Humor, M/M, New Year’s Eve, a little background Zepile/Mizai, implied Gon/Killua in a sweet 15 year old way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 14:17:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithpepper/pseuds/smithpepper
Summary: Each year, the Zodiacs throw an extravagant New Year’s Eve party for the entire Hunter association. A wistful Leorio decides to attend in hopes that Kurapika will be there. Killua endures teenage angst, Gon shows up covered in dirt, everyone drinks too much champagne, and Senritsu leads a flute choir. Set somewhere vaguely in the future of the canon storyline.





	What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve

**Author's Note:**

> This is just going to be a two-chapter fic, the second chapter of which I’ll post very soon. I tried to finish this in time to post on actual New Year’s Eve, but, whoops. 
> 
> What more can I say? I started writing this as your standard LeoPika angst, but it turned into more of a lighthearted holiday fic. I guess I needed some unapologetically silly fluff for a change. I hope you enjoy!

The invitation arrives in an envelope made of plush burgundy velvet. When Leorio rips it open, a flurry of sparkling confetti explodes onto his shoes.

“Agh! Shit!”

He _just_ vacuumed. Grumbling under his breath, he plucks the card out of the envelope and holds it up to the light. It’s printed on shimmering silver parchment, and the flourishes of the beautiful calligraphy are kind of hard to read even by his shitty doctor-handwriting standards. He pushes his glasses farther up his nose.

The Hunter Association cordially requests your presence at the 293rd Annual New Year’s Ball!

December 31st, 7 pm to 2 am

The Sapphire Center, West 24th Street, Swaldani City

Hors d’oeuvres and drinks will be served following a special performance by our esteemed Music Hunters. Dress code is black tie formal. That includes you, Ging.

RVSP by December 14th to Cheadle Yorkshire.

Huh. Leorio usually avoids the formal Zodiac events. Standing around making small talk with other Hunters in some stuffy convention center lobby isn’t his idea of fun. Besides, his work at the clinic keeps him busy enough that he prefers to spend his rare free time drinking with Zepile or visiting the kids.

But he’s not scheduled to work over this holidays this year, and the Zodiac parties do tend to go all-out on the catering, and...

He rubs a hand over his stubble, thinking.

Maybe another Zodiac is considering going to this party, too.

Leorio kicks off his glitter-covered shoes and pads into his sunlit kitchen. He grabs a lukewarm beer from his fridge and takes a long gulp before perching on the armrest of his couch. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sets it on the coffee table, staring down at it for a moment.

He’s not sure why he’s so apprehensive. They work together sometimes, after all, and it’s not like it was before the expedition. They’re just both...busy, they’re adults now, they have jobs and responsibilities and entire separate lives. Why should it matter that every strained conversation leaves Leorio with an ache in his chest?

Ah, what the hell. Leorio drains his beer and snatches up the phone before he loses his nerve. His fingers tap out the number automatically. After two rings, the line connects with a quiet click of static.

“...Kurapika? Is that you?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Uh.” Leorio scratches his nose and tries to swallow over his lurching heartbeat. “Usually when people answer the phone, they say something.”

“Hello, Leorio.”

Okay. Fine. They’re not off to a great start, but what else is new? Leorio closes his eyes and tries again.

“Hey. Listen. I was just wondering if you’re uh...if you’re gonna go to that New Year’s thing? I know they’re usually a pain in the ass, but I think Senritsu’s doin’ something with her flute ensemble and if you’re not doing anything that night I thought maybe—”

“Yes. I received my invitation today as well,” Kurapika interjects. “I will be attending.” 

“Oh! Great.”

He waits for Kurapika to continue, but there’s another beat of silence.

“So,” Leorio continues brightly, “I’ll...see ya there, then.”

“Yes.”

Is it his imagination, or does Kurapika sound exhausted? Leorio opens his eyes and picks at a loose thread on the couch cushion.

“Is everything okay? You sound worn out.”

“I’m well, thank you.”

“Good! That’s good. I’m good too. Well, I won’t keep you. See ya in a few weeks!”

He hangs up in a rush and stares at the ceiling, a little thrill of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

* * *

“So it’s not really a _date_ ,” Killua says, ripping open sugar packets and tipping them into his mouth. “You’re just both going to the same party.”

It’s three days after Christmas, and Leorio has taken Killua out for lunch at a nearby cafe. The holiday decorations are starting to look a bit stale; the boughs of evergreen tacked to the walls are yellowing, and pieces of red tinsel occasionally dislodge from the ceiling to flutter down onto the table like rusted snowflakes.

“It’s not _not_ a date,” Leorio replies defensively. He fishes a strand of tinsel out of his coffee before swatting the sugar out of Killua’s hands. “Stop that, will you? You’re gonna give yourself diabetes.”

Killua rolls his eyes and pulls a Chocorobo out of his pocket.

“Whatever. So you guys are going together? Are you gonna pick him up before and take him out to dinner and everything? You better do it right. Kurapika’s kind of a snob, you know.”

“Well. I mean. I think we’re gonna...meet up at the party,” Leorio trails off, blisteringly aware of how lame that sounds. He pokes at the cold spaghetti on his plate, twirling an oily noodle through a puddle of congealed tomato sauce. “But. I dunno. He sounded happy when I called him. Happy for Kurapika, that is.”

“He was polite, you mean?” Killua taunts, waggling his eyebrows. “ _Certainly_ , _Leorio_ , _I_ _look_ _forward_ _to_ _your_ _presence_ _at_ _the_ _occasion_. _Perhaps_ _we_ _can_ _fill_ _out_ _an_ _expense_ _report_ _together_ _afterwards_ ,” he continues in a prissy, mocking tone. “Yeah. Real romantic.”

“Please. You wouldn’t know romance if it climbed up your ass and—”

“Idiot! I know plenty about romance,” Killua snaps. “Unlike you.”

“Oh yeah? What are you doing on New Year’s, then?” Leorio counters, chewing on a sprig of parsley. “Hot date with Alluka? Playing video games until your eyes bleed?” He motions toward the gum-chewing waitress for the check.

“I’m going to the party too, moron! Did you forget I’m a Hunter?” Killua smacks the back of Leorio’s hand with a napkin.

Actually, Leorio had forgotten. The waitress bustles over with the check, batting her long eyelashes at Leorio. She’s a cute redhead, all freckles and dimples and bubblegum smell, but...eh. He doesn’t have the heart to flirt with her today.

“Oh. Right. I didn’t know kids were invited.”

“I’m fifteen!”

“You’re a kid. Is Gon coming too?”

Killua suddenly becomes extremely interested in the tablecloth. He looks away from Leorio’s smug gaze and traces the embroidery with a sharp fingernail.

“Dunno. Prob’ly.”

“What? Afraid to ask him?” Leorio teases. “Don’t you guys talk every ten seconds? Watch it, you’re ripping up the fabric. Put your claws away.”

“Sometimes,” Killua mutters. The tips of his ears glow bright red, vivid against his shock of white hair. “Don’t look at me like that. Aren’t you the one who can’t even ask someone on a date when you’ve been in love with him for like, ten million years?”

“I am not in love with him—” Leorio begins in a rush, “I just—we’re friends, and I thought it would be fun to...to...catch up.”

“Tch. Yeah. Just friends who write ‘Kurapika Paladiknight’ in _girly_ cursive all over the bill!” Killua crows, pointing at the receipt. “You got it bad, dude.”

Leorio looks down in horror to see that Killua is right; he’s been absentmindedly doodling on the back of the receipt for the last three minutes. He wilts onto the table, crumpling up the paper and moaning.

“You even dotted the i with a heart,” Killua informs him. “This is so pathetic I can barely make fun of you. Jesus.”

“Shut _up_.”

“Invite me to the wedding, okay? Maybe Kurapika will answer your calls by then.”

God. This kid was a trained assassin, all right. Always straight for the jugular. Leorio resists the urge to flick him between the eyes.

“Real funny, asshole. See if I ever buy you lunch again.”

He gets to his feet with a sigh and weaves through the crowded tables towards the door. Killua zips up his ridiculous magenta coat and follows, still snickering to himself.

It’s unseasonably warm today, much more like early spring than the end of December. A gentle breeze stirs up eddies of dead leaves, and patches of fuzzy green moss have sprouted up in the cracks of the sidewalk. After a week of heavy rain, the sky is a freshly rinsed pale blue.

“When’s the last time you saw him, anyways?” Leorio asks as they walk towards the train station.

“Kurapika?” Killua frowns, fidgeting with his scuffed beetle phone. “Um...two months ago at Alluka’s birthday. You worked a double shift that day or something.”

“Oh yeah.” That had been a particularly hellish day of heart surgery at the clinic. “How...how did he seem?”

Killua shrugs.

“I dunno. The same. Quiet.”

“Regular quiet? Or sad quiet?”

“How am I supposed to know? He’s...you know. He’s Kurapika. He’s weird. Ask him yourself.”

Good point. Leorio shuts his mouth before Killua can eviscerate him further. They reach the train station and come to a halt as Killua digs through his pockets for his train card.

“See you in a few days, kid,” Leorio says, reaching out to tousle Killua’s hair. “Take a shower. You stink worse than Ging.”

“Do not,” Killua grunts, ducking away. He reaches up and self-consciously adjusts his bangs. “Don’t compare me to that troll.”

“Just kidding. But you do need a shower. You’re all greasy.”

“You’re so annoying, old man.”

Leorio grins and raises a hand in farewell as Killua slouches into the station.

He takes his time walking home, lost in thought. Lavender-tinged clouds drift across the sky. A wind chime tinkles softly from the branches of a rustling willow tree. Something about the waning afternoon light feels expectant; the town seems to be holding its breath as he meanders back to his apartment.

* * *

Look, it’s not like Leorio expected Kurapika to run into his arms after the expedition. He wasn’t asking for anything like that. Most nights on the ship, trying to sleep on his cramped bunk bed, Leorio only wished for Kurapika to survive. He hadn’t prayed since Pietro, but as the dark waves slapped against his tiny porthole night after night, he whispered desperate mantras into his pillow.

 _Just_ _let_ _him_ _be_ _okay_ _and_ _I_ _won’t_ _ask_ _for_ _anything_ _more_. _Just_ _let_ _him_ _survive_. _That’s_ _all_ _I_ _need_.

If Kurapika met someone else and settled down, Leorio would send a wedding gift. If Kurapika’s future children needed a godfather, Leorio could do it. If Kurapika decided to move to the middle of nowhere and never speak to anyone again, Leorio would respect his wishes and leave him alone. It was easy to think like that when they were in such terrible danger. He could put aside his own desires. He could be selfless for the sake of his best friend, couldn’t he?

Well, no, as it turns out. Total bullshit. Even after they made it back safely, Leorio’s stubborn heart just kept wanting and wanting and wanting.

Last year Leorio was fairly serious with someone: a neurobiology researcher from the hospital. Her name was Claudine and she was great; whip-smart and funny and talkative. Leorio liked her chartreuse hair and the way that her nose wrinkled when she laughed. They talked about tumor markers and had interesting, athletic sex. He wasn’t in love, sure, but it was fun and easy. Nothing about it made him desperately sad. Back in April he even took Claudine home to meet his mother, who cooked a big spread of roasted fish and got them tipsy on homemade strawberry wine. It was nice, but it didn’t give Leorio any of the complicated mushy feelings that you’re supposed to have when you see your parent and your partner getting along. He yawned and checked his watch one too many times during the evening. Claudine got fed up and dumped him the next day.

“You don’t love me,” she told him in an admirably matter-of-fact voice as she searched his apartment for her paperbacks and earrings and lacy thongs. “You’re thinking about someone else.”

Leorio couldn’t argue with her. They parted ways after he gave her a container of leftover fish. She was right, after all.

Later that night he had called Zepile. They sat on his rooftop and shared a bottle of whiskey until they were both trashed. At one point Zepile lurched sideways and tried to plant a sloppy kiss on Leorio’s collarbone, and Leorio sighed and gently pushed his friend away.

“Zep. Don’t be stupid. Mizai will get over it eventually. You’d regret this.”

“Wha’ if he d-d-doesn’t?” Zepile moaned through a spate of hiccups. “He’s so goddamn strict with everything. I didn’t mean to stand him up, I just lost track of time haggling.”

“He’s a busy dude, that’s all. Don’t have a cow over it,” Leorio said consolingly, patting Zepile on the knee. “He’ll come around eventually.”

“Agh, you’re right. Sorry, L’rio.”

“It’s okay.”

They sat in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth and swinging their legs off of the edge of the building. The cool spring wind whistled through the snarl of telephone wires and antennas on the rooftop.

“Well, too bad about Christine.”

“Claudine.”

“Right.” Zepile paused and took a shaky breath, looking a bit green. “Y’ever gonna work things out with Kurapika?”

Leorio shrugged and drained the last drops of whiskey. He thought of Kurapika’s little half-smiles, the way his amber eyes caught the sunlight, the unexpected sparkle of his laugh.

“I don’t know.”

Zepile cast him a sly look from underneath his eyebrows.

“He talks about you, too. Mizai tells me.”

“Yeah?” Leorio answered, too quickly. “That true?”

Zepile nodded.

“Oh yeah. Give it a shot, big man. What’s the worst that can happen?”

 _He_ _could_ _turn_ _me_ _down_ , Leorio thought through a boozy haze, _he_ _could_ _turn_ _me_ _down_ _and_ _laugh_ _in_ _my_ _face_ _and_ _speak_ _to_ _me_ _even_ _less_ _than_ _he_ _does_ _now_.

Leorio forced a laugh, clapping Zepile on the back and heaving himself to his unsteady feet.

“You’re right. Eh, I’ll think about it. C’mon, let’s go get something to eat before we hurl.”

In the months that followed, Leorio clung to that conversation like a life raft, turning the phrase over and over in his head. _He_ _talks_ _about_ _you_ , _too_. What did that even mean? What did Kurapika say about him? Why, then, was he still so distant during every monthly Zodiac meeting, why did he only use his phone half the time, why hadn’t either of them done anything to resolve the aching tension between them? It drove Leorio nuts.

* * *

December 31st dawns bright and cold. Leorio wakes up at 7:03 am and throws open his curtains to let the sunshine into his small bedroom, yawning and scratching at his stubble. He makes an extra-strong pot of coffee and drinks it black until his pulse is hammering in his ears and his palms are sweating.

The party is at 7 that night, and suddenly the hours between then and now seem impossibly long, yawning before him like a chasm. He wishes he had work today, but he’s still on vacation. He could go on a long run around the lake, but after cracking open his window he determines that it’s too damn cold. Maybe he could do some paperwork at home, but his mind is darting about like a sparrow. He’s too jittery to concentrate on anything.

Emboldened by the sunlight and the festive atmosphere of the holiday, Leorio picks up his phone and fires off a short text to Kurapika.

 _See_ _u_ _tonight_! _Wanna_ _bet_ _on_ _what_ _Ging_ _will_ _show_ _up_ _wearing_?

He plugs his phone into his charger and spends twenty minutes shaving with excruciating precision. When his phone emits a cheerful electronic burble (Kurapika’s specially programmed ringtone, a choice which has had the unfortunate effect of sending Leorio into a Pavlovian frenzy even when he hears it from someone else’s phone), Leorio’s hand slips and he nicks himself under his chin. Blood spurts onto his bathrobe collar. He swears and mashes a clump of toilet paper against the cut before scrambling into the bedroom to read Kurapika’s reply.

 _I’ll_ _put_ _twenty_ _Jenni_ _on_ _a_ _potato_ _sack_. _I’ll_ _see_ _you_ _tonight_ , _Leorio_. _I_ _look_ _forward_ _to_ _it_.

After a moment of the typing bubble appearing and vanishing and appearing again, Kurapika sends a follow-up text: 

:) 

Outside, people are starting the celebrations early. The erratic crackle of distant fireworks echoes through the street. Leorio grins like an idiot and splashes on some stinging aftershave, shaking his head. Who taught Kurapika how to use smiley faces? It’s like a pet learning to talk. Killua is undoubtedly to blame.

 _Don’t_ _get_ _your_ _hopes_ _up_ , Leorio reminds himself sternly as he gets dressed and goes downstairs for the newspaper and a croissant. They’re friends, and they’ll have a nice evening talking about work and eating snacks with Gon and Killua. _Maybe_ _he’ll_ _give_ _me_ _a_ _hug...? No_ , _he’s_ _more_ _of_ _a_ _handshaker_. _That’s_ _okay_.

He sits on a bench and eats his croissant, buttoning up his coat against the frigid weather. Buttery flakes spill onto his lapel. He picks them off one by one and pops them into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully and staring at nothing in particular. The cold air makes his eyes water. People hurry down the street clutching baguettes and champagne bottles, shouting over the wind. Everyone looks frazzled and excited, and it sends a pleasant tremor through Leorio’s stomach.

New Year’s is a good holiday, less stressful than Christmas and less morbid than the ancestor-oriented autumn festivals. Who knows what will happen in the coming year? After surviving Pietro’s death and the Hunter exam and the Dark Continent expedition, Leorio has found that there’s no harm in being optimistic. Who knows what will happen tonight?

 _Hey_. _Stop_ _it_ , he tells himself again.

The day passes so slowly that Leorio takes his clock down from his wall and checks the batteries, convinced that it’s broken. It’s working fine; he’s just losing his mind. To kill time, he takes his stove apart and cleans every inch of it with an old toothbrush. Kurapika would be proud. He cracks open a novel that Zepile recommended, a bestselling spy thriller about a Hunter-turned-jazz pianist, but after fifteen minutes he realizes that he’s been reading the same sentence over and over. He discards the book and flops over the armrest of his couch, sighing.

At 3 pm he gets to run down to the dry cleaners to pick up his tuxedo. It’s a welcome interruption. Although the old lady who runs the place is clearly working her tail off, Leorio can’t resist the opportunity to brag, milling around in the crowd of customers. Everyone’s red-cheeked from the cold as they rush in and out with their crinkly plastic bags.

“Thanks, Wu Shen! Gotta look good for my date tonight,” he says much too loudly over the heads of the other customers. “Appreciate it!”

“Of course, dear,” she shrieks back, not looking up from her armful of sequined ballgowns. “Try not to get so much barbecue sauce on it next time, won’t you?”

“I got in the middle of a meatball fight! My job is weird.”

“Well, don’t do it again. We used up half the detergent on the sleeve.”

Wu Shen’s small form vanishes behind a pile of Padokian carpets, and Leorio waves and exits with the tuxedo tucked underneath his arm. The sky is already growing dark, and the sunset has the brittle turquoise sheen that promises an extreme temperature drop. He shivers and walks home quickly, feeling the cold seeping into his fingers and toes. As an afterthought, he pauses in his downstairs deli to grab a bottle of discounted champagne. Just in case.

It takes all of his willpower to not open the bottle and drink it the minute he steps indoors. To resist temptation, he stores it in the freezer underneath a package of fossilized chicken nuggets. He heads into the bathroom and takes a long shower until his skin turns lobster-red. Around 5, he chokes down a plate of burnt toast. You never knew what kind of weird stuff the Zodiacs would serve, and he doesn’t want to let the drinks go to his head before he has a chance to be sharp.

Finally, finally, it’s time to get ready. Leorio turns on the radio to some mindless pop station to drown out the incessant racing of his thoughts and takes his time putting on his tuxedo and tying his silk bow tie. Every attempt leaves the knot looking bedraggled and lopsided, and eventually he gives up and emits a burst of Nen through his fingertips. The bow zings into place immediately, and he straightens it with satisfaction and looks in the mirror.

Not bad, all things considered. The tux fits him well, and it looks nice with his navy blue overcoat draped over his left shoulder. He poses in the mirror, checking his best angles and planning his entrance.

“Ah, Kurapika! Glad ya made it,” he drawls, fixing his face into a devil-may-care kind of smirk. He glances in the mirror, and his reflection scowls back at him. No good. He just looks constipated. Maybe another approach.

“Hey! Peeks. Been a while, huh?”

This one he pairs with a bright smile, and somehow that’s even worse. He looks like a maniac. Hmm. Maybe pretend to not notice Kurapika at first? He gives that one a whack, turning towards the window like he’s talking to someone else.

“And like I was saying to the other surgeons—oh, Kurapika! There you are,” he says in surprise, turning back to face the mirror.

To his horror, there are two faces staring back at him, and a pair of ice-blue eyes meet his. Leorio yelps in alarm, clutching his chest and collapsing into his desk chair.

“You’re losing it, man,” Killua remarks, slinking around Leorio to perch on the end of the bed. “You really are.”

“What the HELL did I tell you about letting yourself in?!”

Killua rolls his eyes. He’s already in his tuxedo, but his dandelion-fluff hair is as unruly as ever. Leorio resists the urge to groom him like a mother cat and instead starts fastening his cuff links. They’re the official Zodiac issue: mother-of-pearl with an iridescent boar carved into the smooth surface.

“I knocked like ten times and you didn’t hear. Clearly you were deep in conversation.”

“Don’t—don’t even—” Leorio begins, flushing, but oddly enough Killua seems willing to pass up a chance to make merciless fun of him. Moodily, he zaps a bolt of neon static between his fingers, and it singes the quilt with a tiny puff of smoke. Leorio flaps his hands at him.

“Cut that shit out! You’re gonna burn my house down.” He finishes the cuff links and turns to look at Killua. “What are you doing here?”

“No reason. I was just in the neighborhood and figured I’d, uh, just ride with you.”

Leorio frowns. Killua and Alluka live way across town, so that makes no sense, but since Killua looks rather wounded Leorio lets it drop. The truth will come out sooner or later.

“Well, I’m taking the train. I wanna be able to get really drunk without having to drive, so if you needed a ride you’re out of luck.”

“That’s fine,” Killua says vaguely, patting down his bangs. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Where’s Alluka?”

“Still doing all her girly crap. She’s gonna meet us there later.”

“Cool.” Leorio pulls on his coat and spritzers himself liberally with cologne, and Killua waves it away, coughing and making a disgusted face.“Hey, you want a shot before we go? It’s good luck on New Year’s Eve!”

“Says who?”

“Uh, only everyone in my home town,” Leorio says, uncorking a bottle of Japanese bourbon that he keeps stashed in his sock drawer. He takes a liberal swig and smacks his lips happily, feeling the bourbon burn its way down his throat.

“You know I’m fifteen, right?” Killua replies, fidgeting with his cummerbund. “You’re the worst doctor ever.”

Ah. Right. Sometimes Leorio forgets that not everyone started drinking at age 12.

“Tch. Never mind. Hey, the train’s leaving soon! Let’s go.” He pockets his cell phone and wallet and dabs one more splash of cologne onto his wrists. “Cheer up, buttercup!”

Killua mutters horrible things under his breath, but he trails after Leorio as they leave the apartment and walk towards the train. It’s pitch black outside already, and their breath fogs in the freezing air.

The train is packed with people in glittery dresses and dark suits. Everyone is talking and laughing, and Leorio spies more than a few passengers sneaking drinks out of paper bags and umbrella covers. Killua slouches against a pole and gazes out the window.

“What’s eating you?” Leorio asks, poking Killua in the side. Killua glares at him and moves away.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Your aura is like, manure right now. What is it?”

Killua says nothing.

“Fine, fine, ignore me and have your teenage angst. See if I care, see if I ever let you come over and eat everything out of my fridge—”

“He’s not answering his phone,” Killua interrupts, staring at his shoes. “We were s’posed to go together but. He’s not even picking up.” The corners of his mouth turn down.

“Oh,” Leorio replies after a beat of of surprised silence, “oh, well, if that’s all it is—hang on, this is our stop.”

They tumble out of the train, darting through the chattering crowd into the cold night air. The convention center is about half a mile down the street, and they walk towards it with purposeful strides. It’s a beautiful building. The exterior is sculpted from pure sapphire cut razor-thin and reinforced with Nen. It’s lit from within by thousands of floating candles ensconced in clumps of twisting vines and flowers, and the effect from afar is breathtaking.

“If that’s all it is,” Leorio resumes as they approach the shining blue walls of the building, “then Gon probably just forgot to charge it, Killua, you know how he is. Or he probably dropped it in the dirt and it stopped working or something.”

“But we were supposed to—well, whatever. You wouldn’t understand,” Killua huffs. They reach a queue of other partygoers lined up on the sidewalk, and they each pull their Hunter licenses out of their pockets for the security guards to check. Leorio’s pulse quickens. Maybe Kurapika is already here? He cranes his neck to see who’s in line, but there are no telltale yellow heads in the vicinity.

“Whatever, Killua. He’ll turn up. Don’t worry. He loves a good party.”

Killua looks thoroughly unconvinced and kicks at a pebble. The line moves slowly. Before long they’re surrounded by familiar faces, although Gon and Kurapika are still nowhere to be found. Ikalgo gallops towards Killua on his stumps, dressed in an immaculate octopus-sized purple silk tuxedo. Leorio gets trapped in ten minutes of mindless weather talk with Pyon, who looks bored and keeps scratching at her ears. Everyone is stomping their feet and crossing their arms to keep warm. After twenty minutes of waiting, the guards swing open the circular doors and start ushering the guests inside.

Fancy places still give Leorio a bit of a rash, but even he has to admit that as far as swanky parties go, this one is good. The entry hall is an enormous greenhouse, and the crystal path that they’re standing on is flanked on both sides by waterfalls and ponds dotted with pancake-sized water lilies and brilliant fuchsia orchids. The indigo ceiling stretches impossibly high overhead, and candles float unassisted at various intervals across the space. A chorus of ooohs and aaahhs goes up around them: this is the first time the Zodiacs have held their party here. Leorio feels reassured that everyone is impressed, not just him. Soft music wafts from somewhere deep within the building, and exotic orange and yellow butterflies flutter overhead.

“Damn,” Killua says reverently. “Even compared to my old house this is kinda nice.”

“No shit,” Leorio agrees, craning his neck for the ninetieth time to look around for Kurapika. He takes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downs it in one gulp, suppressing a burp. “Ah. Do you ever just get really glad that we did all that dumb stuff during the Hunter exam? This almost makes it all worth it.”

Another waiter comes by with a tray of caviar and crackers, and Leorio grabs a handful of sturgeon roe and shoves it into his mouth, chewing nervously. “Ya know? Not that I’d ever do it again, but man, this stuff isn’t cheap. Know what I mean?”

Killua shoots him a panicked look and elbows him fiercely, gesturing with his eyes towards the back of the line. Following his gaze, Leorio sees a very familiar blond head bobbing towards them. All at once it’s like his insides have been replaced with helium.

 _Oh_. _He’s_ _so_ _beautiful_. 

Leorio’s sharp intake of breath causes him to inhale his entire mouthful of caviar, and he starts to choke. Dozens of people whirl around to stare, alarmed, and Killua whacks him on the back until he hurks the half-chewed mess into his hand, cursing and wiping his watering eyes.

“Fuck! Is he over here ye—” Leorio splutters, and suddenly Kurapika is right in front of him, staring with mild revulsion at Leorio’s handful of soggy caviar sludge. 

“Hello, Leorio,” Kurapika says, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His dark eyes twinkle. “It’s good to see you.” 


End file.
